


Drained, Worn Down, and Dog-Tired

by HidingintheInkwell



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Feelings, M/M, Nightmares, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 20:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15693282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HidingintheInkwell/pseuds/HidingintheInkwell
Summary: Plagued by nightmares every time he closes his eyes, Nick can't remember the last time he got a decent night's sleep, or had any meal that wasn't coffee. It comes to a head one day while working in the lab, and when he finds himself waking up in Grissom's lab, more than just his lack of sleep comes to life.





	Drained, Worn Down, and Dog-Tired

**Author's Note:**

> I SHIP THESE GUYS SO HAAAARRRRD!!!!!!!
> 
> Hey everybody! So sorry it's been a while July was a crazy month for me but I'm back! Thanks for all the kudos on my other stories and I hope you guys like this one!!! >*<  
> \--HidingintheInkwell

Nick rubbed at his eyes, unable to remember the last time he’d slept. It seemed that every time he went to bed, laid his head down for even a second, the darkness closed in and brought with it wave upon wave of horrors. 

 

It started with Nigel Crane dropping down from his ceiling, wearing Nick’s clothing, saying how he’d studied the man so much he was sure he’d make a better Nick Stokes. Nick’s door would open and his family would walk in followed by his team, and they wouldn’t even hesitate before walking toward the other man, calling him by Nick’s name, greeting him like he’d been a part of their lives, and when Nick would try to gain their attention, they’d look at him with no sign of recognition, asking Crane who he was. The man would respond that he was an imposter, a stalker, and then he’d draw his gun and shoot Nick right between the eyes, ushering the crowd back out of the room and letting the door behind him. 

 

Nick would lay there on the bed, knowing he was bleeding out, even if it was all just a dream, but feeling nothing but emptiness. Then it would morph again, growing into older memories of Kristy standing over him, thin blouse from that day in the boutique covered in her own blood as she thrust her breasts out toward him, that working smile on her face. “I’m sorry, Nick… It really had been fun, and I was being honest when I said I wanted to go back to school… too bad you were just too gullible to believe I was going back to take classes.” Then she would start laughing, voice coming out like a saw on metal from where her pimp had crushed her windpipe. Then she’d lean close, cold dead lips pressing against his even as he struggled to get away, still adverse to hurting her even if she wasn’t real. 

 

Sometimes it was the kids they couldn’t save, empty eyes looking at him and wondering why he hadn’t tried harder to save them. Little Britney with her scared blue eyes, waiting for someone to save her from the man who was supposed to protect her, at her side Tina dressed in orange with judgement on her features. “Someone should have saved  _ me _ ,” she’d say, one hand on her daughter’s thin shoulders. It was the little boy from one of Greg’s first scenes, left in a tote and found on a whim, life cut short because the woman supposed to be caring for him and his brothers had cared more for the money than their lives. Then had come Walter Gordon. 

 

Out of all the dreams that repetitively kept him up at night, the ones that feature Walter Gordon and his daughter were by far and away the worst. He’d be back in that tiny plexiglass coffin, sweat dripping down his face as he slowly suffocated for some unknown assailant’s viewing pleasure. Even after he shot out the light, there was still not enough air, he could feel his lungs constricting as he fought to pull in breath after breath. Then the ants would come, swarming in through the blown out light, finding their way up his pants legs, into his shoes, down his shirt, each bite inflicted setting his very soul on fire. Even despite the gum in his ears and the gloves up his nose, they found their way in, crawling down his throat, eating him alive. 

 

And just like that he was back in the morgue with Dr. Robbins and David standing over him, cheerfully discussing his autopsy as he could only watch on wordlessly. Their methods were arcane at best, chainsaw, butcher’s knife, all things he knew to be misplaced, figments of an adrenaline and  solenopsin induced sort of fever dream, but the thoughts were no less comforting. Unlike those fever-dream moments when he was still in the box, however, he could feel everything. The bite of steel through his skin, the vibrations of the chainsaw as they cut away at his ribcage, every pull of the organs as they were ripped from his body, accompanied by no small number of jokes. He wanted to scream, to cry out in pain, tell them to stop. But his jaw had been glued shut in fear that if he opened it, the fire ants that swarmed behind his gums might escape.

 

Then his father would replace David, receiving Nick’s heart with a smile and a thank you, but then he’d immediately turn and hand it to Grissom. “My son would have wanted you to have this,” he’d say, handing the entomologist the organ. And Grissom would just look at it, studying it like it was a puzzling piece of evidence. “Why on earth would I want this?” he’d ask, then he’d toss it over his shoulder. “Why would I want your son’s pathetic, misguided heart?” and even as a pain greater than the live autopsy ripped through Nick’s disconnected body, he’d be forced to watch as the two men he cared most about in his life had a good laugh, staring at the discarded organ as their shoulders shook in guffaws. 

 

Because that was the thing, it wasn’t just nightmares that kept Nick awake at night, though they were strong contributing factors. It was the dreams that came in between, starting even long before the nightmares had, dreams of Grissom cornering him in the breakroom, of calling him into his office only to push him against the desk and ravish his mouth. They were dreams of Nick turning over in bed to see a very naked Grissom lying there watching him. He’d lean over, pinning Nick to the mattress before laying kisses down his neck, over his chest, lower and lower until Nick was engulfed in an all new kind of heat, one that made his toes curl and his back arch under those clever fingers he watched work over evidence at the lab, working over his body until he was coming awake with the older man’s name on his lips and his boxers sticky. Shame would immediately burn through him, chasing away the last remnants of the dream and he’d be tumbling out of the bed, sheets clinging to his ankles even as he made his way to the bathroom to scrub away all evidence of the dream. He couldn’t be thinking things like that about his boss, about  _ Grissom _ . It was true they knew next to nothing about the man’s private life, but he didn’t strike Nick as the kind of man who swung the other way. Hell, Nick had been sure he was straight until the dreams had started. 

 

He was losing sleep because of them. If it wasn’t a wet dream that left him shivering in the shower after barely 2 hours of sleep, it was paralyzing nightmares that held him captive until his alarm went off, leaving him feeling more tired than if he’d just pulled a double in the Lab. The idea of food leaving him shaky and nauseous, he started living off coffee, downing cup after cup until even Greg was giving him funny looks, making jokes that he’d cut him off if he ever topped 10 cups in a shift. More than once Catherine or Warrick had caught him in the break room or locker room and snapped him out of a trance. Catherine had even turned mother hen, checking his forehead for a fever after she’d caught him zoned out in the breakroom, staring at his untouched burrito and unresponsive as she called his name several times. Each time he claimed he was fine, just a lot on his mind, or he hadn’t slept that well the night before. She never looked like she believed him, but she never pushed the subject either. 

 

He took to avoiding Grissom every chance he could, hiding in various labs and ducking questions because he knew there was no way he’d be able to hide anything from the man. His supervisor would take one look at him and know just how messed up Nick really was. It was no secret that Sara had a thing for their resident entomologist, and Nick wasn’t blind, he’d seen the way the other man treated her, looked at her when he thought no one else was watching. He’d have bet his Class 3 there was something going on between the two of them, and there was no way he was going to come between that. He couldn’t do that to Grissom, not when he’d obviously found someone who made him happy. 

 

\----------------------------

 

It was a slow night, maybe half way through their shift and Nick was in the lab with Greg running tests on their latest victim’s clothes. For the life of him he couldn’t remember what had happened to the poor girl, all he knew was Warrick and Catherine had gone to case the scene, and then he was being ordered to help Greg out with the bags of evidence that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his wrist. His vision had started going fuzzy about a half hour ago, and he made a promise to go get some more coffee as soon as he had the samples in the mass spec. Lowering the blade back to the triangle he’d been slicing a sample from, he had to grip the table’s edge as the floor suddenly tilted beneath his feet. An earthquake? Here? The floor heaved again, the evidence in front of him blurring out of focus even as he blinked repeatedly in a desperate attempt to clear it. Then the pristine white floors were coming into focus even as they rushed up to meet him, and everything went black. 

 

\----------------------------

 

Greg shot Nick an occasional worried glance over his shoulder even as he watched the screen before him, waiting for the test results to roll across it. This case seemed relatively cut and dry, but there were unaccountable stains on the victim’s clothing, and Grissom wanted them identified before they sent the findings to Brass in case anything turned up that could hurt or solidify the case. They’d been at it for a few hours now, and nearly all the tests were accounted for, but Nick’s behavior lately had him worried. The criminologist had seemed off lately, his normally cheery demeanor absent and the dark smudges under his eyes seemed to grow with each passing day. 

 

Greg couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he’d started noticing the changes, but if he had to take a wild guess, it would have been around the time they had that mass suicide with the teenage cult, followed so closely by the kidnapping of that little girl after her whole family had been killed over a crop of basement marijuana. If he was being honest with himself, Greg had only noticed because of the other man’s increased coffee consumption. Had it not been for the fact that the pot had been refilled three times more than it normally was in a shift, he’d likely have never noticed the changes in the man currently sharing his lab. 

 

_ Some CSI I am, _ he thought to himself, shifting in his chair to give the man another studying look, only to find himself catapulting out of the chair in a mad dash to keep the Texan from braining himself on the table as those brown eyes suddenly rolled back in his head and he went toppling. The Lab Rat turned CSI just managed to catch narrow shoulders, easing the fall in a different direction and lowering the bulkier man to the floor as gently as he could. Quickly checking vitals, relieved to find the other man’s breathing and heart rate regular, if a little slow, he folded his coat into a makeshift pillow and leaned out the doorway. “GRISSOM! CATHERINE!”

 

\----------------------------

 

Grissom was in his office going over a backlog of paperwork when he heard muffled shouting from outside his office. Closing the folder and grateful for the distraction, he stepped out into the hall, nearly colliding with Catherine as she rushed down the hall. “What’s going on?” he asked the blonde woman. She shrugged. “No idea, but it sounds like it’s coming from Greg’s lab.” Grissom raised an eyebrow, but before he could comment he heard the shouting again. “Grissom! Catherine!” It did indeed sound like Greg. Sharing a look with the woman at his side, they turned and started back for the lab their youngest teammate occupied. Pulling even with the clear glass room first, Grissom felt the pit of his stomach turn to ice. Nick was lying sprawled on the floor, head lolling against the bundled up coat beneath it. Nothing moved other than the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Greg Sanders was kneeling next to the prone man, one hand on a wrist keeping track of his pulse. He looked up as the two superiors approached. 

 

“What happened? Catherine asked, pushing past a still frozen Grissom to kneel at Nick’s head, thin fingers checking him over for any wounds. Greg shrugged, eyes wide and scared. “I don’t know! One minute he was prepping samples the next he’s deciding to take a header to the table!” Managing to shake himself from his stupor, Grissom strode into the lab, kneeling across from the young man. Calculating eyes roved over the form of the young Texan, taking in the pale, gaunt features, the dark shadows under normally bright eyes.  _ When had he lost so much weight? _ How had Grissom missed the way his subordinate had started becoming so worn down? Reaching out, he let his fingers slide along a stubbly jawline before coming to rest on his pulsepoint, relieved to feel the steady pulse beneath his fingers. “I think he’s… asleep,” he noted, meeting his companions equally concerned gazes. 

 

“Asleep?” Catherine asked, eyes flashing briefly to Nick’s face which even then still looked slightly pinched before meeting Grissom’s cool blue one again. “You mean to tell me he just fell asleep?” The Shift Supervisor nodded. “Greg, will you go grab David for me? If I’m right, he can verify and we won’t necessarily need to call the paramedics.” The young man nodded, giving Nick one more worried glance before he was up and all but running out the room. Once he was gone, Grissom shifted positions with Catherine, gently lifting the unconscious young man’s head into his lap. Nick was a handsome man, there was no denying that. More than one female involved in their cases, and even a couple of the men had pointed this fact out, but the only one Nick had ever shown an interest in was the working girl, Kristy Hopkins. A relationship that had nearly ended the young man’s career as a CSI when the young woman had turned up dead. 

 

“He looks exhausted,” Catherine commented softly, picking up one of Nick’s hands and cradling it in hers. “I can’t figure out how I missed it getting this bad. I mean, I’d found him dozing against the lockers or in the breakroom a few times, but I always chalked it up to whatever case he was working on at the time. He never gave any indication…” Grissom reached out and laid a hand over hers. “None of us did,” he told her in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “Looks like we were all pretty blind.” The two friends sat in silence for a long moment, lost in their own thoughts about just how long the man in front of them had been fading away, and how much longer it would have lasted had this little incident not happened. They were broken from their thoughts by the return of Greg, followed closely by their assistant coroner. Grissom lowered Nick’s head back down to the makeshift pillow and joined Catherine and Greg out of the way, giving the newcomer room to work. 

 

Ten minutes later, he was standing, turning to the trio across the room. “Looks like exhaustion,” he said. “Doesn’t look like he’s slept or ate much lately, it probably just caught up with him and chose now to do so. You could call the paramedics, but all the hospital could do was stick him in a bed with an IV. I’d say move him out of the lab and maybe somewhere a little more comfortable, but other than that, he’ll be fine. Will probably wake up in a few hours when his body has had time to recuperate.” He offered them a half smile. “If you guys don’t need me anymore, I gotta return to the morgue. Doc has me doing autopsies right now and I’ve got three on standby.” Grissom nodded, an idea forming in the back of his mind. “Hang on a second, David,” he said, stopping the assistant. “Can you and Greg give me a hand moving Nick to my office? I figured he can sleep it off on the couch I have in there.”

 

The young men nodded, joining Grissom in getting a grip on the unconscious man in preparation to move him out of the lab and down the hall. Catherine stepped forward to lend a hand, shooting Grissom an inscrutable look that the man ignored. A few minutes later the group was gently lowering the slumbering man onto the couch, Greg and David returning to their respective locations but Catherine lingering for a moment, adjusting the young CSI’s legs on the tiny couch and running a hand through his hair. “Make sure he talks, okay Gil? Don’t let him leave until you find out why this happened. It could have been in the field, or while he was working something big in the evidence lab.” Grissom nodded, leaning back against his desk and watching. Nick’s features seemed to smooth out under Catherine’s ministrations, a note he filed away for later. Casting the young man one more look, she pushed herself to her feet, shot Grissom another unreadable look, and then left the office, door clicking shut a minute later. 

 

Grissom studied the young man passed out on his couch for a long moment before coming to a decision. 

 

\----------------------------

 

Nick felt heavy, cloudy. It was a feeling he hadn’t had in a long time. He was also comfortable; the surface he was curled up on was soft and formed to his body, and his head was pillowed on something warm and firm that smelled comforting and oh so familiar. He buried his head further into it, hoping to chase the last trendles of the dream he’d been having back into oblivion. For once it had been a good dream, a  _ normal  _ dream, minus the singing monkeys and talking furniture that constituted “normal” for most people. He and Grissom had been curled up together on the couch watching a documentary on the History channel. Completely domestic, and it had been the best dream he’d had in a long time. 

 

As the tail ends of the dream slipped away, he became aware of a steady pressure against his shoulder, tracing lines from elbow to collarbone, following an invisible path up his neck, thin, nimble fingers skimmed through his hair before migrating down their previous paths. It felt good, more than good. He never wanted it to stop. Some sort of sound must have slipped from his throat because the caress paused momentarily and a rumble vibrated the pillow under his head. Nick frowned, thoughts starting to make themselves known as the haze cleared.  _ Pillows don’t vibrate _ … fighting against the last dregs of sleep, he blinked his eyes open to find his line of sight filled with rows of shelves each neatly lined with specimen jars and cages of multi-legged creatures.  _ Why am I in Grissom’s office? _ Last thoughts began trickling in; the case, running samples in the lab with Greg, then…  _ Oh god…  _ Heat rushed up his neck. He’d passed out in the lab. He couldn’t believe it. He’d  _ passed out _ like some kind of idiot! He turned to bury his face in whatever had become his makeshift pillow, and heard a soft chuckle from somewhere above him. Nick froze. 

 

The pieces were coming together, and if he was right, he wanted nothing more than to disappear into whatever spontaneous chasm the earth decided to open for him. Opening his eyes, he turned his head to find himself staring into a familiar bearded face, pale blue eyes watching him with amusement and something unreadable.  _ Nicky, you are SO screwed. _ “Grissom?” he blurted redundantly, spouting the first thing that came to mind. The man above him just cocked an eyebrow. “Nick.” Realizing he was still apparently using his supervisor’s lap as a pillow, he moved to push himself upright, apologies falling from his lips in a desperate attempt to set right what he’d just done. “Oh god, Grissom, I am  _ so  _ sorry. I have no idea what happened. I just--I’m--” he was stopped both figuratively and literally by a hand on his shoulder, gently but forcefully lowering him back down onto the couch, head once again landing on firm thighs. Realizing that resisting would be pointless, but unable to meet that steel blue gaze, Nick averted his eyes as best he could, heart lodging in his throat at the thoughts of what exactly they needed to talk about. 

 

“What’s been going on, Nick?” Grissom asked, voice soft, hand coming to rest on Nick’s arm again. The brunet didn’t want to answer, didn’t want Grissom to know how messed up he really was. “You’ve been spacey, and Greg says you’ve been downing more coffee than usual. What’s going on, Nicky?” Nick’s throat burned and he turned his head away best he could, not wanting the older man to read him like the open book he knew his face probably was. “Nothing,” he mumbled, voice thicker than he would have liked. From above him, he heard Grissom sigh. “Don’t lie to me, Nick. If nothing was wrong we wouldn’t have found you passed out in the lab. You look like you haven’t slept in months, Nicky. We just want to help.  _ I  _ just want to help. Please tell me what’s wrong.” Grissom’s voice was so soft, so earnest, and the hand on his arm gave a warm, comforting squeeze, and something deep inside Nick fractured. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper. He could hear the frown in Grissom’s voice when the man spoke again. “Sorry for what?”

 

“I tried to make them go away, I tried to deal with them. But every time I closed my eyes they’d be there all over again.” It felt like someone was sitting on his chest. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Grissom would know how messed up he was. The hand on his arm rubbed gently, urging to continue, but Nick wasn’t sure he could. He was having trouble swallowing past the obstruction in his throat and his eyes were burning. “Nightmares?” Grissom asked after a long awkward moment of silence, the man in his lap nodding in response. 

 

Grissom knew how difficult nightmares could make sleeping. If the young CSI had been regularly plagued by them, that could explain his gaunt appearance, but it didn’t explain the flush that was spreading up his neck, or the way his adam’s apple was bobbing as he swallowed almost nervously. “What else, Nicky,” he said, watching as the younger man tensed. “Other dreams?” he prompted, watching the nod. “Am I right in assuming they are of the more carnal variety?” This time there was a long hesitation before Nick nodded again, blush creeping higher over his cheekbones.  _ Interesting. _

 

“Who are they about, Nick?” he asked, though he had a feeling he knew the answer. Nick hadn’t hidden the fact that he was practically avoiding the entomologist nearly as well as he thought he was. The brunet shook his head, a whine escaping his throat as he once again fought to sit up, only to find his way blocked as Grissom slid his forearm across the narrow chest, a chest that was now heaving as though it’s owner had just run a marathon. “Grissom, please,” he begged, every muscle tensed like he was ready to run. “Please, I can’t…” Tears were leaking from beneath clenched eyelids, making tracks down red flushed cheeks. Grissom’s heart tugged at the inner turmoil the younger man was obviously going through, but he wasn’t about to let up. Whatever his CSI was keeping bottled up, it was eating away at him and that was something Grissom just couldn’t let happen. So he laid his final card out on the table. “Do you dream about me, Nick? Do you dream about what you want me to do to you? Do you wake up in the middle of the day ready to come in your pants at the thought of me?”

 

Nick stiffened, color draining from his previously flushed skin. Very slowly, almost as though he were forcing himself to do so, he turned his head until terror blown brown eyes were meeting Grissom’s. Grissom hated seeing that look on the young man’s face. It was a look that brought back every memory of every time Nick had been in the line of fire, a gun held to his head by a crazed wife, facing down dellusional stalkers, stuck in a coffin…. Realizing he’d been silent longer than he meant to, he slid one hair into Nick’s short brown hair, cradling his skull and offering the now trembling man what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Nicky. I’m not mad, I promise. It’s alright.” He rubbed gentle circles into the scalp beneath his fingertips, willing the younger man to calm down, afraid he may pass out again if he didn’t. To his relief, Nick took a deep albeit shaky breath and some of the color returned to his complexion. “You’re not… you’re not angry?” he asked, tongue snaking out to wet dry lips and Grissom had to suppress a groan. “No Nicky, I’m not angry, I’m not disgusted, and I’m not whatever else that brain of yours is thinking I should be. Actually, I’m flattered. And you should know I return the sentiments.”

 

The look on Nick’s face was comical, and this time Grissom allowed himself a small chuckle, cupping one blushing cheek in his palm, relieved when one of Nick’s overlapped it, slender fingers threading through Grissom’s own. This time when the younger man went to push himself upright, Grissom let him, helped him with a firm hand between his shoulder blades and watching him shift until he could properly face Grissom, a scrutinizing look on his face.  _ This how they feel when I study them? _ Grissom thought to himself, watching Nick watch him. “Is this a dream? Because so many times, this is exactly how my dreams start. You say you return my feelings, we go to kiss, and then I wake up alone in my bed.” The Texan’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, eyes so open and vulnerable, like he was just waiting to wake up in a cold and empty bed, remains of a dream still lingering. There was no way Grissom could let those thoughts continue. Wrapping his hand around the back of a warm neck, he used it as leverage to pull the brunet close, pressing their lips together in a chaste but lingering kiss. “Does this feel like a dream?” He asked when he pulled away, smirking in satisfaction at the glazed look in those brown eyes after just one kiss. 

 

“No, definitely not a dream…” Nick’s voice was hoarse, soft, then he was surging forward, lips connecting with Grissom’s in a kiss that was more clashing teeth than ideal second kiss, but he didn’t care, he just wrapped Nick in his arms, pulling him closer like he couldn’t get enough of him. One hand was pressing into his shoulders the other threading through his curls, Nick clinging to him like he was still afraid the entomologist was going to disappear any minute. “Not going anywhere, Nicky,” he mumbled against chapped lips, pressing until they were lying against the couch cushions, Nick pinned beneath his body knee to shoulders as they devoured one another’s mouths. He would make sure Nick never thought he was dreaming again.

  
  



End file.
